


Bed of Blood and Money

by Magpiie



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Bodyguard AU, F/M, Minor drug references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpiie/pseuds/Magpiie
Summary: Laura McCabe is the eldest daughter of a prominent statesman, a man who she does her best to avoid - but whose money she is more than happy to spend. Sweeney is a bodyguard for a private security firm. It’s a fanfic trope as old as time.
Relationships: Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Green Day’s Father of All...
> 
> Rated M for future sex and violence. 
> 
> For ages I’ve wanted to write fics that a, explore Laura’s self-destructive emotional state before the events of the series and b, show Sweeney being Big and Strong. So hopefully this will cover both bases lmaooo.

“Didn’t I say no on the phone? I thought I said no.” Laura folded her arms and reclined against the doorframe and, stood in the hallway, Vincent took a steadying breath and begged god for patience.

“Laura, the police said that-“

“Yeah yeah, the whole family,” she muttered bitterly. She’d heard it all before. “Considering daddy dearest couldn’t even bring himself to tell me all this in person, I think I’m safe.”

“Actually, the fact that you live out of state by yourself makes you a more likely candidate for kidnapping,” Vincent explained coolly. “This is all for your protection, not just to cramp your style. But look, if you’re sure, I can go tell _daddy dearest_ what his eldest is spending his money on.” His gaze shifted pointedly past her to the kitchenette, and she glanced over her shoulder to see what he was looking at: a tall glass bong, painted with dolphins, sitting amongst the toaster and espresso machine. She had found it hilarious when she’d bought it and bit back the urge to laugh at it now.

“That’s purely decorative.”

“Oh don’t bullshit me, I can smell weed right now.”

“Fine,” she groaned, turning away and skulking into the kitchen. “But for the record, I buy it with my own money.”

“I honestly couldn’t give a shit,” Vincent answered, kicking the door shut behind him. Laura slipped into one of the tall seats at the breakfast bar, and he pulled a slim stack of files out of the messenger bag slung over his shoulder and spread them out in front of her. With a bored indifference, she studied the photographs paper-clipped to the front of each one.

“These are the staff recommended by the security company. I’ve carefully vetted each one, and personally I think the best option-“

“This one.”

“What?”

Laura plucked the photograph free and held it up to him.

“This one.”

“You didn’t even read the files. Are you serious?”

“Every single one of them is bald with cauliflower ear except this guy.”

“So?”

“So, they all look like someone my dad would hire. Can you imagine his face if I show up to thanksgiving dinner with _this_?” She waved the picture in front of him for emphasis and he failed to bite back an amused smile.

“Okay, sure, that would be funny. But I did interview them and honestly, he seems like kind of an asshole-“

“Even better,” she said decisively, sliding the untouched folders back towards him before hopping down from her seat. “Thanks Vin. You’re the best, really. Do you have time to grab a coffee or something?”

“Unfortunately, some of us have real jobs,” he sighed dramatically, sliding the folder she’d chosen back towards her and neatly packing the others away. She flicked the folder open and slumped against the counter, skimming it disinterestedly: mostly dates of employment, a few other boring details. She closed it again, watching Vincent gave her a vague wave as he left. Just before he pulled the door shut behind him, he paused and cast a final long-suffering look over his shoulder. “Enjoy the new bodyguard.”

If Vincent had given her any details about the employment of said bodyguard, she hadn’t paid the slightest bit of attention to them. If she had, she might have been better prepared for the loud knocking that woke her at 8 sharp the next morning. It grew louder and more insistent as she stumbled through her chic, minimalist apartment, half-awake with the pounding headache of a hangover already settling in for the day.

“Alright, alright,” she grumbled as she swung the door open, and found herself staring into the broad chest of a stranger. Her gaze trailed sleepily upward and she squinted at the visitor for a moment before grunting in recognition. He was taller than she expected and dressed fairly conservatively in a white shirt and dark jeans, but the shock of red hair was unmistakeable. “Oh. The bodyguard, right?” she asked, wincing at the hoarseness of her voice. He took in the sight of her - a little mess of panda eyes and tangled hair, still dressed in last night’s clothes - and smiled tightly down at her.

“So you just open the door to strangers?” he asked conversationally. She stared blankly at him. He raised his eyebrows, trying to prompt a response.

“Sorry, I um... didn’t realise you’d have an accent. It’s really early.” She rubbed one eye sleepily, then looked down in vague annoyance at the smudge of dark makeup it left on the back of her hand. “What were you saying?”

“You open the door to strangers. When you’re home alone. After you’ve been warned about a threat to your personal security.” With a short laugh and a dramatic roll of her eyes, she stepped back and held out an arm to gesture him inside. He eyed her reluctantly, as if trying to mentally determine whether this paycheck was absolutely worth it, before striding past her. He glanced around while she shut the door and stepped slowly into the kitchen.

“No offence, but I’m sure that’s bullshit. My dad paid for this whole security thing and he has more money than sense. I’m pretty sure he’s just doing all this to look important.”

“Funny. I read the police report. Sounded pretty serious to me.” She watched him check the locks on the door to the balcony, peer out at the sparsely decorated outdoor space, then glance at the other doors off the main room. To the left was a bathroom and a small storage area, but the two bedrooms - each with an ensuite - were down a short hall to right. “Mind if I look around, Ms McCabe?”

“Whatever. Laura’s fine. I’m gonna make coffee, you want one?”

“That’d be wonderful, Ms McCabe,” he replied, already disappearing down the hallway, and she quickly tried to remember what sort of state her bedroom was in. Didn’t she get pizza on the way home last night? Didn’t she eat it in bed? It probably wasn’t a great scene either way, she decided, but she couldn’t quite muster the energy to be embarrassed. Why should she care? As far as she was concerned, this whole farce about her security would die down in a couple of weeks and then this gentleman would be out of her life again. After a few deep breaths to hold her nausea at bay, she set about brewing a pot of coffee.

He returned from his investigations to find her sniffing a milk carton and pulling a face.

“Black is fine.”

“It’ll have to be,” she muttered, tipping the spoiled milk into the sink and nodding at the two mugs she had set out on the breakfast bar. “So how does this work?” He stepped up and leaned against the counter, ducking to avoid one of her stylish low-hanging industrial kitchen lights.

“Apartment should be secure enough. Security on the door is good and you’re too high up for anyone to get in through a window or something.” He produced a fairly plain business card from his pocket and set it down on the sleek marble between them. “If you’re going out, call or text, let me know. I’ll drive you.”

“And then... what? Follow me around? Like a chaperone?”

“Depends where you’re going.”

“That sounds pretty inconvenient.”

“More inconvenient than being kidnapped?”

“Okay, point taken.”

“Okay. You have any plans for today?”

She hummed thoughtfully, taking a few lazy sips of her coffee.

“I’ll probably go out for lunch at one, one-thirty. I don’t have to work today. Maybe I’ll meet a friend for dinner.”

“Oh, you have a job?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” she muttered in annoyance. “I work unsocial hours. Do you have to come to work with me?”

“I’ll take you there and bring you home afterwards. Time doesn’t matter.” He finished the last of his coffee and straightened up. “You usually go out to eat?”

“Usually. I don’t really cook.” He nodded, as if confirming something to himself.

“That’s fine. Thanks for the coffee.” He cast one last glance around the apartment, then headed for the door with a polite smile and final reminder to let him know before she left the building.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Sweeney go for lunch, cuz this fic is self-indulgent mush and I'm not even sorry about it.

Laura sipped silently at her coffee until it was done, then crawled back into bed. The room was a dim mess of unwashed clothes and empty glasses, a gross nest of apathy in an otherwise spotless apartment, and now in the safety and darkness, she felt a dull pang of embarrassment. The bodyguard - and shit, it was absolutely too late to ask his name, maybe she should dig the file out and check - had seemed fairly gruff, but had obviously spent enough time around people like her father to be able to know how to act around them. He had passed judgement on her barely functional lifestyle, she was sure, but at least he'd had the decency and good sense to make absolutely no indication that he'd noticed. 

She slipped in and out of sleep for a few hours until she was too disgusted with herself to lie there anymore, at which point she put on a Feel-Good Playlist loud enough to drown out the background noise of her brain and dragged herself into the shower. It didn't take long for her to wash up, brush her teeth and shrug on some clean clothes, and she gave the untouched business card an apologetic glance as she left the apartment.

Outside, the world was comfortably overcast, and she took a deep breath as she headed down the building's steps to the sidewalk. She'd barely taken two steps up the street when the sound of a car horn cut through the tired midday calm, eliciting a startled yell from her, and she whirled around to shoot the driver a sharp look. He waved at her, and her shoulders slumped. Damnit, Bodyguard.  
"You scared the shit out of me," she muttered, ducking to glare at him through the passenger window. The car was slick, black and non-descript, like a bad guy in a movie would drive, and she found herself utterly unsurprised. "Are you gonna just sit outside my building all the time? Seriously?"  
"Just today," he replied, with a saccharine-sweet smile. "Vincent told me you would do this." She silently cursed Vincent for knowing her far too well.  
"I forgot," she lied brazenly, with a smile to match his own.  
"Uh-huh. Get in the car." She held his stare for a few petulant moments, then marched around the car and slumped into the passenger seat. As she buckled her seatbelt, he asked, "Well, Ms McCabe, where to?"  
"Laura," she corrected distractedly. "I was going for lunch. You know the Korean place near the park?" He nodded in confirmation, checked the mirrors, and drove.

"Wanna come in?" she asked as they pulled up outside, and he leaned forward to study the place and shrugged.  
"Looks fine."  
"I'm inviting you. You're not my butler, I'm not gonna make you wait here. I was gonna eat in the park." He turned to study her with an odd sort of curiosity, then nodded.  
"Alright."

They found a bench near a bright little flowerbed and she made herself comfortable, sitting cross-legged with her bibimbap in her lap. He sat down next to her, and they ate in silence for a couple minutes, watching dog walkers and mothers with strollers pass in front of them.  
"So," she finally asked, pausing to take her a sip of her overpriced flavoured water. "What brought you to the States?" He swallowed his mouthful, then answered,  
"A girl."  
"Oh! Are you still together?" He took another bite and shook his head. "Oh. Sorry." He laughed softly.  
"It was a long time ago." Laura took the opportunity to sneak a proper look at him and wondered what the girl was like. She could see the attraction, she guessed. Tall, well-built, good-looking in a rugged and distinct sort of way. And he was at least marginally more interesting than security staff she'd dealt with in the past, although that said very little. Her mind drifted, imagining what he was like outside of his job, what that relationship had been like, and she was a little startled when he spoke again. "So, what's your job? Vincent didn't mention it." She narrowed her eyes just slightly. He closed the empty container from his lunch and set it next to him.  
"Vincent say a lot?"  
"Enough," was all he said, but he glanced sidelong at her and gave her a playful smirk.  
"Great..." An old man with an old Schnauzer nodded at them as he walked past and she nodded back, watching the dog until they'd gone. "It's a non-profit, for women in bad situations. It doesn't pay very well but I don't need the money, right? And most of the other staff are moms, so it helps out when I take the late shifts. And holidays." She made eye contact with him and he just raised an eyebrow, trying to show interest despite the fact he wasn't really sure what to say. "Gets me out of the house."  
"That's very noble," he said finally, and she stared at him until she was sure he wasn't being sarcastic - or, at least, until she couldn't be sure that he was.  
"It's also the kind of place my dad would try and pull funding for, so…" He nodded but didn't say anymore, just reclined back on the bench and put his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, a big cosy thing lined with fleece. Ordinarily she would worry that she was boring him, but he didn't seem bored - just comfortable, drinking in the moment. She wondered what that felt like. 

She tried to just sit and be present for a moment, but a gnawing need to fill every silence began to bubble up inside her and finally spilled out. "This is what I don't get though. I mean, he's a shitty guy with shitty motives, but the idea that any of his rivals would do something to his family…" She scoffed and shrugged, but then he turned to her with a small frown and she faltered a little. "What?"  
"Mm. Is that what you think this is about?" he said hesitantly. Her puzzled frown deepened, and he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft. "He owes some people money." She took a few breaths, then swallowed the lump in her throat.  
"Bad people," she ventured flatly, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. "Fuck. Of course he does."  
"Sorry to be the one to tell you," he said, quiet but firm, and she shook her head.  
"No. Thanks for being honest. I'm glad somebody was." When she slid the lid over the unfinished meal she realised her hand was shaking, and she cleared her throat to be sure her voice wouldn't fail her when she asked, "Can you take me home?"


End file.
